


Feline

by colorfulmagic



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 08:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24468244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colorfulmagic/pseuds/colorfulmagic
Summary: Bruce and Damian visit Istanbul together. What follows is cat petting, mutual vulnerability, and a side of father son heckling.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne
Comments: 26
Kudos: 191





	Feline

Bruce liked to think that he wasn't a very overbearing parent. Sure, when his children’s safety was at risk, he could be a bit… intense. Besides that though, he was relatively hands off. When Dick had come home with that god awful mohawk, Bruce hadn't said anything, although he did raise an eyebrow and had done nothing to stop Jason's constant teasing. The boy deserved it, getting a  _ mohawk.  _ When Dick and Tim decided they needed their own space and left to join the Titans, he hadn’t made too much of a fuss. He let the boys conduct their own missions, and trusted them to handle themselves. Which was why it was slightly unusual for him to be so alarmed over this. 

A week ago, Bruce had been notified that a merger had gone through for a new partnership in Turkey. He had needed to leave at once in order to close the deal, but Damian’s summer break had just started and he was tearing apart the walls. Which was why Bruce had asked Damian to come with him, half expecting the answer to be a resounding no. Damian had surprised him however— had seemed excited for the trip despite doing his best to hide it. He had packed with Alfred and Bruce in his room, deciding in his assertive way what he would bring and informing Bruce quite clearly of his expectations for the trip.

“...and of course we will be using this as an opportunity for training Father. I know of several prestigious martial arts masters in Istanbul, and though the crime there will not be on par with Gotham I am certain there is no need to put a stop to our patrols,” Damian informed him.

Bruce exchanged a long despairing look with Alfred behind the suitcase. He had supposed this would perhaps be a chance to relax, but it seemed Damian was more interested in the crime of Istanbul than the scenery. Bruce had spent the entire plane ride attempting to explain to his son why Batman and Robin couldn’t appear in Istanbul the exact same time that Bruce Wayne and his son were noted to be going, and even then Damian barely agreed. 

“There is such a thing as undercover work, Father,” Damian had said, as if Bruce was a particularly slow child. Bruce barely refrained from rolling his eyes. 

“I’ll undercover your work,” he said grumpily. He had not slept for two days, and he had counted on the flight to get in his hours. Clearly that wasn’t going to happen. 

“That does not even make sense. Father, are you ill? We can turn back if you are not feeling well.”

“No, I’m fine Damian. Look we’re almost here. Why don’t you look out the window?”

“Tt. I’m not a child, Father. I don’t need to look out the window.”

“Okay. Think of it like a training exercise. If you didn’t know where we were, how would you determine it from your surroundings. Give me proof to back it up.” This had kept Damian busy for the amount of time it took them to land, and while they were waiting for their driver Damian had presented him with his iPad where he had taken several pictures of various landmarks with red circles around them for good measure. He also, as he put it, ‘further challenged himself’ by informing Bruce of his action plan should he be placed in the city with no food, water, or money. 

“Of course I would immediately disguise myself, and I am certain I would be able to pickpocket enough people to get me to the edge of the city. From there I know of several martial arts masters who would be willing to take me on as their apprentice.”

“Right,” Bruce said. “Damian, has that ever… happened to you.”

“Of course,” Damian said, and there was that unimpressed look again. “Everyone has to go through that to finish their training. I never completed mine, though.” He seemed upset about this, and Bruce looked away before Damian could see the rage painting his face. A little boy.  _ His  _ little boy. 

“Actually,” Bruce said lightly, trying to change the subject. “I’m pretty sure I did train here. I learned Sayokan somewhere in the Old Ottoman part of the city.” Damian's eyes lit up, and he was asking Bruce questions a mile a minute about the fighting style, the people he met, the techniques he learned. Bruce tried to answer his questions as honestly as he could, though he steered away from the extremely gory bits. Damian did not need to hear about how he had almost died in a gutter from measles and blood loss, thousands of miles from home. 

Now that Bruce had his first day free from the office though, he was determined to show Damian something other than Turkish muggers. He had taken a reluctant Damian to the Turkish Grand Bazaar— one of the biggest spice markets in the world, though it could have been the ethnic foods aisle at their grocery store for all the enthusiasm Damian was showing. 

“Father,” he asked hesitantly. “Why are we here? Is there some sort of crime deal taking place?” His dark eyes scanned their surroundings, missing nothing. 

The urge to hunt Talia and Ra’s down and dig their eyes from their sockets was a familiar one. It did not make it easier. 

“Yes,” Bruce said very seriously. “We are going on a very important mission. But that won’t be for another couple hours, and until then we need to act like we’re regular people to throw them off our scents.” 

Was it manipulative? Yes. But it was worth it to see Damian running around grinning and talking to the merchants in rapid fire Turkish, haggling for prices, and seeming for all the world like this bazaar, with the heat, and shouting, and the smell of a thousand spices in the air, was where he belonged. 

Bruce had given Damian five hundred Liras and told him to explore. He was certain that Damian could handle himself, and Bruce had told him not to wander too far. Which was why it was so worrying when, two hours later, Damian was nowhere to be found.

A hundred scenarios ran through Bruce’s head as he jogged around the market, glancing in each stall with no sign of Damian. Rounding the corner, he hurried to the pavilion, wondering if perhaps Damian had gotten into a fight, or been kidnapped by the league of assassins, or—

His shoulders slumped as he finally spotted his son, breathing in for the first time in what felt like hours as he saw the familiar tuft of dark hair, tanned skin, and— fur? 

Damian was surrounded by what seemed to be dozens of cats, all butting their heads against his thighs and purring while Damian delightedly petted them. As Bruce watched in befuddlement, Damian reached into a sack beside him and pulled out several pieces of meat, tearing them apart and tossing them to the felines. They seemed to appreciate this, as within minutes there was no trace of the meat and they had resumed their quest to have Damian pet them with renewed vigor. 

Bruce walked up to him, face blank to hide his confusion. “Damian,” he said. 

Damian looked up and grinned, seemingly very pleased with the situation he was in. “Yes Father?”

“Where did you find all these cats.”

“The street! I was walking through the market, when this foolish man asked me to pay sixty Liras for a box of baklava— sixty Liras, can you believe him? So of course I needed to show him the error in his judgement and eventually,” he reached into his bag, “I bought this for only thirty.” He seemed exceptionally proud of himself, offering the box to Bruce for him to take one.

Bruce carefully selected a baklava out of the box. “And the cats.”

Damian beamed down at them. Bruce stared. He was pretty sure Damian had smiled more in the past ten minutes than he had in the year and a half Bruce had known him. 

“I was walking past the restaurants when I saw all of these cats walking around begging for scraps. So I bought this,” he gestured towards the bag he had, “and now I’m feeding it to them. There’s—” he peered into the bag, “chicken and kebab and beef. After that a large number of cats came and I have taken responsibility for feeding them. I think they’re starving”, he added, eyes full of worry. 

“Hn.” Bruce chewed thoughtfully on his baklava— just the right blend of sweet and savory. Damian was looking up at him now, and he seemed worried all of a sudden. 

“I apologize, Father,” he said stiffly. “I see you do not approve. I shall not make the same error again.” He stood up, dislodging at least five cats in the process, and made a move towards Bruce. The sight of Damian, face tight with anxiety and still trying to gently dislodge a tabby from his shin, filled Bruce’s chest with so much aching love that he almost couldn’t breathe around it for a moment. 

“No, no, you’re alright Damian. I’m just concerned you’re going to catch a disease from them. Here, let’s go by the bench and we can feed them from there.” Damian offered him a shy smile, and they sat side by side on one of the benches that seemed to be everywhere. Damian resumed feeding the cats, and though they were still rubbing up against his pants Bruce was less concerned than when Damian’s face was right up next to theirs. 

I used to have a cat, in Pakistan,” Damian said. “She followed me home one day after I fed her. I named her Al Layth, like the constellation.”

“The tail of the lion,” Bruce murmured. Damian looked at him in surprise, then grinned. 

“Exactly.”

“What happened to her,” Bruce asked, then kicked himself when Damian’s face darkened. Of all the stupid things to ask. 

“Mother found her, and she made me dispose of her,” Damian said, clipped. “She said it was a distraction.” Bruce’s breath caught in his throat. 

“Damian… you know, you have to know that what she did was inexcusable.”

“Grayson said it was torture.”

“It was, at that. You have an extraordinary amount of kindness in you Damian. It isn’t a weakness. In fact I’d say it’s your greatest strength. Don’t let her stamp it out.” They sat in silence for a minute, Damian clearly mulling that over. Bruce reached into the bag and tossed a bit of kabob to a particularly emaciated looking ginger haired cat. She seemed to take this as a declaration of love, for after she finished it she rolled on her back across his shoes. He reached down and patted her head for a bit. 

“Did you ever love her,” Damian asked suddenly. Bruce had been expecting the question for some time now, honestly. Didn’t mean the answer was any more clear. 

“We had a complicated relationship. I do think I loved her at some point, yes. However, there were things about me that she wanted to be true that never would be.”

“Like the killing.”

“That was one of them, yes. I also never had much of a stomach for her more brutal ways of information gathering.”

“That is all? That is what made you two seperate.”

“Is that not enough,” Bruce asked mildly. He would not get into all the ways Talia had broken his trust. 

“No, it is just— Mother would often talk about you. You… do not talk about her.”

“She told you about me,” he said. That, he had not known. “What did she say.”

Damian shrugged. “That you were strong, and faster than you looked, and naive. That I was going to take your place, one day.”

“And what do you think, now that you have met me.” Damian turned startled eyes on him, annoying the tabby he had been feeding a moment previous. 

“I think,” he said slowly. “I think she was right and wrong. You’re not naive. You’ve seen all the terrible things in the world, the filth. And you… choose not to kill. What I cannot understand is why.” 

Bruce studied him for a moment, then leaned forward carefully and placed a kiss on his forehead. “One day you will,” he said solemnly, and Damian seemed content to leave it at that. 

They spent the rest of their vacation exploring the sights, and Damian found the mosques in particular gratifying, both to explore and to draw. The first time Damian heard the azan, or call to prayer, his face lit up as he dragged Bruce towards the mosque to listen better. He chattered away at Bruce, telling him how it reminded him of back home in Pakistan when he and Talia would go to the city and the sound would fill up the streets as everyone would close up shop for half an hour to fill up the mosques, or masjids as Damian called them. His relationship with ’home’ seemed treacherous at best, and Bruce did his best not to poke at it anymore than he had to. There was no telling what would strike a good memory or what would leave the boy sullen and withdrawn for hours. He called the manor home as well though, which was gratifying. 

Damian also ate often and well, which surprised Bruce initially because Damian was what you might call a picky eater. He turned his nose up at most things Alfred made, and the first few weeks he had stayed with Bruce he had eaten nothing but toast and jam for every meal. He had gotten better about it over time, but every so often Bruce caught him slipping his food into a napkin and disappearing, presumably to throw it away. It seemed so obvious now, looking at Damian stuffing his face with kabobs and chutneys. He made a mental note to ask Alfred to make more spicy food. 

All in all, it was an illuminating trip, and Bruce was pleased that Damian had come, whatever his reasoning might have been. He found himself somewhat saddened to leave. They were walking through the seemingly never ending airport when Bruce caught Damian looking at a blown up picture of a cat on an advertisement longingly. “You could get one, you know. A cat I mean.”

Damian looked at him in surprise. “A cat,” he said, firmly enough that Bruce knew it was a question. “You mean… for good.”

“Yes, of course. Not to say that it would be replacing Al Layth, but… if you ever wanted—“

“Yes,” Damian said quickly, like he was afraid Bruce would change his mind. “That would be adequate, yes.”

“Okay. When we get back to Gotham we can start looking in shelters.” He glanced at Damian just quick enough to see the flash of a grin, and his heart soared. 

“We’ll have to think of a name of course,” Damian said thoughtfully. “Perhaps Al Dhanih, the star of the slaughterer. Or Dhi’baan, for the fierce Jackal. I shall have to think more on this.”

“It’s a cat,” Bruce pointed out, somewhat redundantly. 

“Yes, that is the whole point father. Try to keep up. Those Sayokan masters must have had lower standards, back in the day, if they allowed you to pass their lessons—“ he squawked as Bruce slung him onto his back, lightening fast. 

“That’s enough out of you, ungrateful brat,” he growled, and Damian let out peals of laughter. It was just as well— they had been walking through airports all day, and Damian was clearly getting tired, despite his attempts to hide it. He was soon nodding off on Bruce’s shoulder, and Bruce shifted him into a better position. The flight back home was fairly peaceful, and as soon as they reached the manor Damian threw himself into preparations for the new cat. 

In the end, Bruce took Damian to four separate shelters. He suspected Damian was enjoying being around so many animals, so he didn’t protest too much, but he put his foot down on the fourth one. Damian took it well enough, and finally chose a small tuxedo cat which fearlessly strutted up to Damian and rubbed its head on the back of his hand. He took his duty as new cat owner very seriously, and made sure his every need was accounted for. He still couldn’t figure out a name, though. In fact it wasn’t until a full week after they had gotten him that Damian finally made his decision. 

“Damian,” Bruce called. “Come get your feline.” The feline stared up at Bruce from where he was blocking the door to his study. Then, keeping its eyes firmly fixed on Bruce, it raised its leg directly up and began licking its asshole. Lovely. “I hate you,” Bruce informed him. The feline gave him a look that said he heard his complaints, thought he was foolish, and would hear no more of his blabber. He then uncurled from his spot and strutted away, in a manner that made it very clear that the decision was made free from any of Bruce’s opinions on the matter. Damian seemed to have arrived in time to catch the exchange, and was staring at the imperious cat with a raised brow. 

“Alfred,” he said. 

“Where? I need to talk to him—“

“No. The cat. His name is Alfred.” Bruce swiveled his head around slowly. 

“You have got,” he said evenly, “to be kidding me.” It was too late. That familiar evil grin had overtaken Damian’s face, and he sped off with a cackle to tell the cat’s namesake the good news. Bruce covered his face with his hands and sighed. 

That kid was going to be the death of him. 


End file.
